


Somewhere There's A Place For Us

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows she’ll make a good Anita. It’s inevitable, really. But when Brittany says it, Santana actually believes it in a way she doesn’t believe it when Artie or Shelby says it.</p>
<p>Coda for 3x05 First Time</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere There's A Place For Us

Santana steps around the corner of the closet door, her hands in fists at her side, her eyes immediately going to the opposite wall. Brittany is sitting at the end of Santana’s bed, leaning back on her hands, tapping her feet to the rhythm of the song playing on Santana’s computer. It feels a little like trying on prom dresses except there’s no Kurt giving her an unneeded seal of approval and better yet, no Tina bouncing from seat to seat, pressing against Brittany’s shoulder, as if she can just do that. Santana can see out of the corner of her eye that Brittany is still smiling, though, so that’s the same.  
  
The dress is snug. A good snug. The kind that makes her want to stand a little taller. It fits like skin around her chest and waist but flares out at the hips. When she first tried it on, she turned her hips side to side and watched the way the material turned half a second behind her. She knows she looks good – even with her hair pulled up messily – but Brittany’s breathless  _“wow”_  still catches her attention.  
  
She shifts her gaze, eyes skating past Brittany and focusing on the bedspread sinking under the weight of the blonde. Her hands unclench and smooth across her waistline self-consciously.  
  
“Yeah?” she asks, her fingers meeting each other on the dress, lacing tightly. “It’s not…”  
  
“Santana,” Brittany starts, lifting off the bed. She moves closer, long fingers pulling Santana’s hands apart and replacing the empty space. “Did you know that you look, like, super hot in red? Red hot.”  
  
Santana smirks, looking just over Brittany’s shoulder. “I  _am_  Satan, remember?”  
  
“Or Santa,” Brittany adds absently. Santana shivers at the barely-there feeling of both of their fingers tracing the lines of the dress. “But you look even better in red than Santa does. I think it’s because he’s covered head to toe and you’re…” Brittany slides their hands across the top of the neckline. “Not,” she finishes.  
  
Santana finally meets Brittany’s eyes, pulling her hands gently out of Brittany’s grasp and moving them to the small of Brittany’s back, her smirk widening. “Imagine how many people would still believe in Santa if he looked like I did.”  
  
Brittany’s smile falters for half a moment because it’s still a sore topic, though they don’t talk about it anymore. Brittany still believes, just a little, but she doesn’t want people to know. Santana opens her mouth to say something else and flexes her hands against Brittany’s back, and the smile is back instantly, brighter now. “I believe in Santana,” she says.  
  
Santana groans softly. “That’s not what I said.”  
  
Brittany shrugs, sliding her hands up Santana’s bare arms, linking them behind Santana’s neck. “That’s what I heard,” she says lightly. “I don’t know why you’re worried. You look super hot.”  
  
Santana looks away again, resisting the urge to pull away and pick at the dress. “I just want it to be perfect,” she admits. “My dad is going to be there.”  
  
She hadn’t told Brittany that yet, wanting to keep the news to herself. She didn’t want to tell someone and then not have him show up, like all the other times he never came to a competition. But it’s  _Brittany_  and she would know anyway, eventually. Brittany always knows, eventually.  
  
“Really?” Brittany asks, her voice full of the excitement Santana won’t allow herself to feel until her dad follows through. “That’s really great.”  
  
Santana brushes it off. “Whatever,” she says, hoping it sounds casual. “Just be sure your parents save a seat for him. I don’t want him to get stuck next to someone else. Like Berry’s dads.”  
  
Brittany nods dutifully. “He can sit next to Lizzie,” she offers. Santana winces but smiles anyway. Her father will  _love_  sitting next to Brittany’s seven-year-old, sticky-handed little sister. “And we can all go out to dinner after, to celebrate how amazing you’re gonna be,” Brittany continues.  
  
“How amazing  _we’re_  gonna be,” Santana corrects, nodding at Brittany’s costume hanging over the back of Santana’s desk chair.  
  
Brittany rolls her eyes, just like Santana taught her to. “I’m just swaying in the background. You’re the star.”  
  
Santana wants to say that Berry is really the star of the show. Her and that Hobbit kid. But she really doesn’t want to give up the memory of the way Brittany is looking at her right now: the corners of her mouth turned up just a little, her lips parted, her eyes wide, a look in them that Santana can’t describe. It’s selfish, but Santana won’t give up that feeling of warmth in her chest for anyone, especially Berry. So she laughs quietly and shakes her head, twisting the back of Brittany’s shirt between her fingers.  
  
“I’m serious,” Brittany protests. “Take me seriously.”  
  
“I do take you seriously,” Santana says, still smiling.  
  
Brittany can’t argue with that, so she doesn’t. Instead, she looks down, touching the hemline of the dress again, sighing wistfully. Santana ducks her head, trying to catch Brittany’s eye. “You’re going to make a really good Anita,” she says after a minute.  
  
Santana nods. She knows she’ll make a good Anita. It’s inevitable, really. But when Brittany says it, Santana actually believes it in a way she doesn’t believe it when Artie or Shelby says it. “You’ll be a good Velma,” she says. “The best any of those people have ever seen.”  
  
“Duh,” Brittany says, grinning. “Most of these people have never seen West Side Story.”  
  
Santana rolls her eyes. “Just take the compliment, would you?”  
  
“I did take it,” Brittany points out, laughing now. She takes a small step backward, towards the bed, pulling Santana back with her. “You’re such a pretty Anita,” she says again. “Everyone is gonna be jealous you’re that Shark guy’s girl.”  
  
Santana pauses for just a moment. The words feel heavier than Santana knows they should. She flashes back to Puck and hears something that sounds like him saying “ _sex shark_ ” and she feels weighted down. Yeah, he’s Bernardo and she’s Anita and he’s a self-proclaimed shark and she used to be a lizard, or something as equally as delusional, but she’s  _not_  a Shark’s girl.  
  
She’s  _Brittany’s_  girl.  
  
“I bet,” she tries to say, the words catching. “I bet they’d be more jealous that I’m your girl.”  
  
Brittany’s nose wrinkles up. “Santana, that’s now how the play goes.”  
  
Of course that’s not how the play goes, but Santana brushes off the small feeling she gets when Brittany doesn’t understand what she’s trying to say. “You didn’t hear?” she finally says, her mouth pulled up in a teasing smirk. “Anita and Velma? They realize how stupid the Jets versus the Sharks thing is and ditch it. Together.”  
  
“Really?” Brittany asks, skeptically. She cocks her head to one side, chewing on her bottom lip. “Did I forget to read that part?”  
  
Santana sighs, smiling a little. “I mean, we can pretend. That when the curtain goes down, Anita and Velma forget the stupid turf war and go somewhere else.” She twists her hands together again, looking everywhere but at Brittany. “Whaddya say?”  
  
She hopes Brittany understand what’s she asking. She curls her fingernails into her palms and works her lower lip between her teeth and hopes that Brittany knows that she really means that once their curtain goes down, once they graduate, they can leave this stupid cowtown and find somewhere, anywhere else to call their own.  
  
Brittany’s smile is slow but it’s there, just as Santana is about to give up and tell Brittany to go try on her own dress. It sets something in Santana’s chest on fire and she breathes easier, echoing Brittany’s smile. “I think I heard about that part, actually,” Brittany says, playing along.  
  
“See, I knew you did,” Santana says, relieved.  
  
Brittany nods and reaches for Santana’s hands again, untangling them once more. She laces her fingers with Santana’s and holds them steady for a moment. “One day,” she says quietly. “Those sharks will all be jealous that you’re my girl, right?”  
  
Santana’s eyes flutter shut as she nods, stepping forward, and their bare feet touching. “They will be,” she breathes out. “One day.”  
  
Brittany nods again and pulls Santana towards her until Santana can feel the comforter so close to her legs, Brittany between the bed and her. “So tell me about Velma and Anita going somewhere else,” she says, leaning in and pressing her mouth against the curve of Santana’s neck.  
  
Santana reaches for the zipper on her dress. “Well, you see…”  
  
\---  
  
Santana pulls back the curtain as people file into their seats. Her hands twist nervously in front of her as the curtain sways shut. Worrying about her dad showing up isn’t helping her nerves, but she can’t help it. If he isn’t going to show, he usually sends flowers, a signature hastily scrawled on the card in a handwriting that usually belongs to the secretary of the week.  
  
Brittany comes up behind her, pulling her hands apart. “Anything yet?”  
  
She shrugs her shoulders, resisting the urge to look again. “He’ll be here.” Santana knows she sounds hesitant, but Brittany is already nodding.  
  
“There’s still time before the second act starts,” Brittany says, stroking her thumb over the back of Santana’s hand. “Like, a whole ten minutes and stuff.”  
  
Santana nods. “Of course there is. I was just checking.”  
  
Brittany smiles like she knows exactly what Santana is thinking, and she probably does. She’s always been able to read Santana that way. Sometimes it’s frustrating, because Santana can hardly keep a secret. Most of the time, though, Santana likes not having to say anything, comfortable in the fact Brittany just  _knows_.  
  
She decides to distract herself and steps back, eyeing Brittany. “You look,” she starts, pausing to look around and see who is within ear range. There’re a few random people that seem to crawl out of the woodwork whenever musicals like these happen but no one Santana really knows or cares about. “You look really amazing,” she says quietly.  
  
“You look better,” Brittany argues, swinging their hands lightly. “You’re, like, hotter than the peppers they put on the salad at lunch today.”  
  
Santana laughs and steps back into the wings of the stage, behind the heavy red curtain, pulling Brittany with her. As soon as she can’t see anyone else, she leans in, brushing her mouth gently against Brittany’s. She curls her hands around the waist of Brittany’s blue dress, smoothing her palms against the material. “I didn’t see peppers on the salad at lunch today.”  
  
Brittany tries kissing her more firmly, searching for the contact Santana is eluding. “You were busy.”  
  
“Doing what?” Santana asks, dodging Brittany’s kiss, smirking.  
  
“Staring at me,” Brittany says, breathing out heavily. Her answer stuns Santana a little, just enough for Brittany to catch her off guard and kiss her harder. Santana goes with it instinctively, her hands squeezing Brittany’s hips with each brush of Brittany’s tongue against her bottom lip.  
  
Finally, she pulls away, craning her neck back when Brittany follows, her eyes still closed. “Wait. Just… really? There were peppers on the salad?”  
  
Brittany giggles quietly. “Yeah, babe. There were.”  
  
“And I stared at you?” Santana asks meekly. “All lunch? Do you think…”  
  
“Anyone noticed?” Brittany finishes, her mouth still turned up. “Yeah, they did. But it’s okay. I told Tina that it hurt your eyes to look at all the stupid people in the cafeteria, so you just focused on me.”  
  
Santana just kind of stares at Brittany, caught between being anxious that people noticed and relieved that Brittany’s excuse actually made sense. She ends up letting out half a laugh that sounds fake and ends up swallowing nervously instead.  
  
“Calm down,” Brittany breathes out. “Everyone believed me. I swear it.”  
  
Santana hates it. She hates that she gets nervous and anxious and weird about things that shouldn’t make her that way. She hates that her stomach twists that way whenever she can feel someone staring at her and how she takes a step away from Brittany, afraid. Mostly, she hates the way Brittany’s eyes dim just a little, just for a moment.  
  
So she forces herself to smile, for Brittany, because they deserve it, and she nods. “Right. They did.”  
  
Brittany smiles a little wider, her eyes brightening again. “Promise,” she says again, kissing Santana once more. She pulls back even more and Santana can see the lights from the auditorium shining on her face. “Want me to check for you?” she asks, looking back at Santana.  
  
Santana wants to say “ _yes_ ” but she hesitates. Her dad has never been the follow-through kind of dad. He means well, most of the time, and sometimes he tries to be that dad. But he’s not, not really. And it would be nice if he showed up, she decides, but if that curtain parts and she squints past the stage lights and he’s not there, she might not mind. Brittany’s hands grip her waist a little tighter and Santana decides that maybe she doesn’t need him to be there, not when she has Brittany, who is always there for her, no matter what. And she has Mrs. Pierce and Mr. P and even Lizzie, who pulls her hair just as hard as she pulls Brittany’s.  
  
Her dad being there would be awesome, but everyone else important to her is already here, already waiting for her to get out on stage and be the star she was meant to be.  
  
And that’s enough.  
  
“You don’t have to,” she says, actually meaning it. She shrugs. “I’ve got you, so.” She bites down on her bottom lip, almost embarrassed.  
  
Brittany grins wide though, and kisses her cheek, probably smearing Santana’s makeup. “Yeah, you do have me,” she whispers into her ear.  
  
Santana hears the curtain pull back a little anyway and feels the rush of cool air that slips in through the open space against her bare back. She wonders if anyone can see them – she can’t help it. It’s still her first thought.  
  
“Oh, San,” she hears Brittany breathe out. Santana braces herself to hear the bad news – the seat is empty and her dad didn’t come. The idea stings still, but it’s more a dull ache now. Her dad doesn’t show? She’ll be fine. She really will be.  
  
She’s not prepared for Brittany’s hands to spin her, quick, and to resume their hold, Santana’s back pressed against Brittany’s front.  
  
“Look, Santana,” Brittany continues to whisper in her ear.  
  
Santana squints, peering past the stage lights to see what Brittany is trying to show her. She can see Mr. Pierce’s mop of blonde hair, leaning down towards Mrs. Pierce. She can see Lizzie, turned in her seat away from her parents, kneeling up against the armrest, mouth wide as she talks to…  
  
“Daddy,” Santana breathes out.  
  
It’s almost like he hears her, the way his head turns towards the wing of the stage. But Lizzie grabs his attention again, her tiny fingers grabbing the knot of his tie and pulling him around again. Santana laughs, but it’s choked again and comes out as more of a ragged breath. She can see his arm hanging off the armrest, a single rose between his fingers.  
  
“He came,” Brittany says, squeezing Santana gently. “See? I knew he would.”  
  
Santana wants to tell Brittany that that’s not true, but maybe Brittany really did know and Santana was the only one who doubted it.  
  
“Whatever,” Santana says, her voice hoarse. “You didn’t know anything.”  
  
“I know everything,” Brittany protests, letting the curtain fall closed again. It doesn’t matter. The image of her dad in those rickety auditorium seats is stuck behind her eyelids and she’ll see it every time she closes her eyes. “Like how when Maria sneaks out of the apartment to go meet Tony, Velma sneaks into Anita’s room.”  
  
Santana turns in Brittany’s arms and laughs. “Oh, really? I don’t remember that part.”  
  
“Which one of us watched the movie?” Brittany asks, pouting a little. “Don’t actually answer that,” she adds quickly, because they both watched it three times in one afternoon. “You got to make up their ending. Let me make up the middle.”  
  
Nudging Brittany out of the wing, looking over her shoulder once, in the direction of her dad, Santana nods. “Yeah, sure. So, Maria sneaks out to meet Tony, and?”  
  
Brittany skips forward a few feet happily. “And Velma sneaks into Anita’s apartment, because her and Bernardo got into a fight and Bernardo snuck off with some other girl.”  
  
“Oh, right,” Santana agrees as Artie does the last call for setting up. Brittany squeezes her hand a final time before she lets go, leaving Santana at her marker. She drifts off to the right, walking backwards so she doesn’t have to look away until she fades into the shadows of the sides of the stage. Brittany’s eyes flashing are the last thing she sees before she takes a deep breath and faces the audience.  
  
When the curtain goes up, her father’s eyes are the first thing she sees.


End file.
